Little Dog Lost
by windscryer
Summary: It was followed almost immediately by a second sound, the one Sam knew would get him help faster than any other word in the English language that actually meant 'help'. “Dean.”
1. Chapter 1

Inspired by Jenn's request to Sky for a stuck!Sam fic. How that ended up with _me_ writing a story I have no clue. Just go with it. :D

Disclaimer: Dude, this type of scenario would be, like, a required scene in three out of four episodes if I owned them. :D

* * *

The floor was cold and wet.

This might not have been anything to note, if not for the fact that he was touching it and was unable to stop doing so.

And he had tried.

For at least twenty damn minutes he'd tried to move from this painful crouch, balanced on the balls of his feet, knees up around his ears on his ducked head, arms extended down between his screaming thighs and shrieking calves to press into the floor of his prison, bracketed in either side by his—thankfully—numb toes. He'd tried but he just . . . couldn't.

Not even to a more painful position to give him a break from the cold and wet floor.

Not even when his phone had rung. And rung. And rung.

Dean, no doubt, wondering where the hell he was.

He would have answered it, but he was in a fair amount of pain and his phone wasn't within easy reach at the moment.

Actually, that was how he _had_ managed to shift positions briefly, but it was too agonizing and had left him bleeding from the forehead, so he hadn't even been able to enjoy the time long enough to dry his hands let alone warm them up.

And he hadn't made it to his damn phone yet either.

He shivered and then groaned.

The involuntary movement did nothing to appreciably warm him up and the restricting confines of his current locale only made any movement at all—even something as slight as a shiver—excruciating.

Sniffling, shivering, water soaking into his pants and slowly inching up his legs, just all around _miserable_, Sam sucked in a deep breath in mental preparation.

He had to try moving again.

It was going to hurt like a bitch and a half, but he couldn't stay here until someone found him—_if_ someone found him—because he would either die or have a complete mental breakdown. He needed to let Dean know what was going on.

He carefully plotted his attempt, trying to anticipate problems and setting up goal posts along the way, knowing he would need them because if he tried to do this all in one shot he was going to permanently injure himself.

Or bring on that breakdown.

Once he had what he hoped was a workable plan, he braced himself for the pain and executed step one.

Lifting his left hand, the bones in the right creaking from the added stress placed on them, he fumbled his shaking hand toward his coat pocket and tried to get his only sort of responsive fingers to cooperate and grab onto the prize there. The shaking grew more intense the longer it took, both desperation and pain sending the nerves in his hand into spasms that made his task all the more difficult.

He bit down on his lip, hot breath rushing in and out in noisy, ragged, panting gasps.

He almost had it, had his fingers in the right places and ordered his hand to clamp down and not let go, then lifted it up.

His fingers slipped, either from the moisture on the ground or the sweat that was pouring off of him in amounts large enough to make it appear he was outside in the rain. Didn't matter which it was, it dropped the phone back down and his fingertips came together painfully, pressing on each other as a whimper escaped his lips.

It was followed almost immediately by a second sound, the one Sam knew would get him help faster than any other word in the English language that actually _meant_ 'help'.

"_Dean_."

It was a prayer and a plea and a fervent request for assistance. It was the sound of a man teetering on the edge of a very large, very dark hole.

Now if only he could get that sound to the one person who could understand what it meant.

Closing his eyes, Sam inhaled as much as he dared, very aware of the roof of his prison pressing into his back and neck and how much it hurt when he tried to stretch that particular boundary.

He gritted his teeth, tearing a hole in his lip in the process, but ignored the warm rush of metal flooding his tongue, the same flood that washed over his lips and mixed with the cooling sweat dripping down his chin.

He was going to get that phone, dammit.

He had to lower his hand back down to the floor, sighing at the blessed relief that brought. It was still painful, but compared to the other pain it was _nothing_.

He gulped down air and wished he could just be done with this.

He wanted to be in back in the room, surrounded by the latest crappy and bizarre decorating scheme in a long line of crappy and bizarre decorating schemes, stretched out on that tiny bed with his feet and hands hanging over the edges, on cardboard thin pillows that smelled funny and yet familiar, watching some dumb movie with Dean on a teeny, tiny black and white TV, drinking crappy beer and eating stale potato chips from the vending machine.

Not that that was his _highest_ ambition at the moment, but he'd happily take that and count himself lucky since he was pretty sure he'd have to sell his soul to get anything more.

_But to do that, Sam, you have to get your damn phone and call Dean so he can come fucking save your pansy ass one more time,_ he berated himself.

He swallowed a mix of saliva and blood and grimaced at the taste as well as how much he was about to hurt.

Then he closed his eyes and moved.

It was no less painful than last time. Maybe more so, in fact.

But he gritted his teeth until they squeaked and forced his hand up and to his pocket, stuffing the whole damn thing in there and wrapping it around the phone, ignoring the bolts of pain that flashed between every damn nerve he had in his left arm, from the fingers on up to the shoulder.

He pulled it back out and panted and gasped as the pain receded to a level that was still very much present and not nearly ignorable, but somewhat muted in comparison to before.

A sort of triumphant laugh rode one of those exhalations and he felt the corners of his lips twist up just a little.

He had to lower his hand again, but willingly paid the price of a little extra pain to keep it from dropping into the water with the phone still clutched in the fingers.

That would not be helpful.

After a moment to maybe cry just a little, he sucked in air and lifted the phone to where he could see the screen.

Or not.

His vision was too blurry for him to make out what was displayed on the tiny screen in even tinier text.

So he fumbled around until he found the "1" button and pressed and held.

As soon as the faint thrumming sound of the ringer came out he lifted the phone and, wincing and hissing for the pain it caused, managed to wedge the device between his head and shoulder so it wouldn't fall.

Then his hand went down and he basked in the lessening of pain.

Three more rings and then a click and then, _"Dammit, Sam. I've been looking all over for you. Where the hell have you been?"_

"Dean," Sam said, almost whimpered. He meant to say more, but that took a lot out of him and, well, he didn't _need_ to say much more. Not to Dean. Not when he said his name _that_ way.

"_Sam?"_ Dean said, all impatience gone, replaced with big brother's deepened timbre of concern.

Sam had to bite back another whimper. That tone of voice told him everything was going to be okay. Dean would find a way to _make_ _it_ okay, no matter who he had to kill or maim or what laws he would have to break. He'd do whatever it took and he wouldn't even hesitate.

"Hurts, Dean," Sam croaked out. He sounded like he was five, and he might not like that later, but right now he really _wished_ he was five. He wouldn't be in nearly this much pain if he were the size he'd been when he was five.

"_What hurts? Where are you?"_

"Alley. Um." He swallowed and tried to think. "Be-behind the Shop&Save." He hoped that was it anyway. He could see the alley and he couldn't imagine he'd been taken all _that_ far from the store. Not when you considered who had to have taken him.

"_Okay. I'm, like, five minutes away. How bad are you hurt?"_

Sam gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath. He'd almost forgotten about the pain in the relief of knowing Dean was coming.

He wanted a bed in a room where the floor and ceiling were at _least_ nine or ten feet apart, but right now even the Impala would feel freaking huge compared to this.

"Not . . ." He swallowed again and tried to think of how to explain. "Not injured." Technically he wasn't.

"_Sam? You with me?"_

Sam blinked and wondered if he'd lost the connection for a moment.

"What?" Then he heard the roar of the engine _not_ on the phone and the splash of water as it was pushed away by the tires running through it. It sent a little wave into where Sam was, lapping up onto the crotch of his jeans and soaking it with cold, oily, mucky water.

Lovely. Now he was going to look like he'd peed himself. And, oh, yes, now he was wet and _freezing_ in a place no guy ever wanted to be that wet and cold. Fan-fucking-tastic.

A car door slammed and more splashing and he tried to crane his neck to see out the small round holes on the side.

"Sam! Sammy!" More splashing. "SAAAM!"

"Dean," he called. Well, tried to. It came out pretty pathetic and the falling rain sort of covered it up. He swallowed, sucked in air, and tried again. "Dean!"

There was no sound but the rain for a moment, then the splashing grew closer.

"Sam?"

The little light there was from a street lamp outside the alley grew dimmer and that was Sam's first indication he'd been found. He couldn't turn his head to see, though.

"Dean?"

"The hell, Sam?"

"I'll exp-explain in a minute. Please get me out?"

That last sentence very quickly dissolved into a pathetic plea, definitely a bit of a whimper.

"Hold on," Dean said and Sam bit his lip as he waited.

A rattle of the door didn't yield it opening, but then Sam's questing fingers had already discovered the padlock when he'd tried to get himself out.

"The fuck happened to getting a fucking pizza, Sam?" Dean said in annoyance, but it wasn't directed at him so much as the problem of how to get Sam out. "It's not rocket science, dude. How the fuck did you end up inside a damn dog crate anyway, you big asshat?" He continued muttering as he circled around.

Sam kept his mouth shut, both pain and humiliation keeping him from trying to defend himself at the moment.

"Huh," came from the back of the crate. "Okay, I have a solution, Sam, but it's gonna take a minute or two. Just hold tight, okay?"

"Hurry. Please."

"I'm going as fast as I can, Sam," Dean said, his voice back to calm and soothing now that he'd found the solution and was working on executing it. "You're gonna be out of there in just a minute."

Sam could faintly hear the sound of something scraping against something else, but couldn't make sense of what it could be. It did involve moving around the cage though, he noted, as Dean made a complete circuit and then stopped where he'd started.

He splashed his way back to the front of the cage and said, "Ready?"

Fortunately, he didn't wait for an answer. He just lifted the top half of the cage off and Sam nearly got whiplash from sitting up so fast.

He _did_ grey out pretty thoroughly and when hearing and sight and all those other lovely senses returned he was staring at Dean, face inches away from his, hazel eyes scanning to see how he was doing and looking for injuries. A finger gingerly brushed over his forehead and Sam winced and hissed, pulling back.

Dean had one hand on the back of his neck though and it kept him from getting very far. Didn't matter much since Dean stopped poking at that point. His eyes locked on Sam's.

"You with me now?" he asked.

Sam nodded, feeling twinges of pain in his neck from the strain it had been under.

"Ready to try standing up?" Dean asked.

Oh Sam was _so_ ready for that.

When the restriction above his head had been removed and he was therefore able to lean back, his feet had slid forward until they hit the front of the crate. Which had left his butt to fall into the water filling up the plastic bottom even faster than before. If not for the fact that the rain was still falling, he would _definitely_ look like he peed his pants.

And he was even more cold and wet.

But now he was _free_ and he could stand and stretch and-

Or maybe not so much.

He got up with Dean's help and then very nearly went right back down, the pain in his legs enough to have him crying out.

"Oh _shit!_" he informed Dean's amulet, hanging night next to his nose as he clung to his brother, Dean's strong arms the only thing keeping him remotely upright at the moment. "Ohshitohshitohshit."

"It's okay, Sammy. I gotcha," Dean said, one hand holding on tightly, the other rubbing circles on his back that had Sam's eyelids drooping slightly. "You're okay. Just take a moment. You're okay. No hurry."

Sam laughed at that.

They were standing in the pouring rain and it was freezing and Sam needed a least minor first aid—not to mention a hot shower and a big flat bad, not necessarily in that order—and Dean had to be uncomfortable and worried because he hadn't found out what the hell had brought them to this point.

But no hurry.

Although—and Sam would _never_ admit this out loud, even under threat of going back into the crate—Dean's steadily thumping heartbeat under his ear was nice and soothing. It awakened memories of being curled up next to Dean in the back of the Impala while they waited for Dad to get a room or pump the gas or kill something mean and nasty. Not that they'd known at the time that's what he was doing.

Sam hadn't anyway, not in his earlier memories.

That sound, that steady—if slightly faster than normal—but reliable _lubdub-lubdub-lubdub_ had been Sam's lullaby for most of his life and he was kind of relieved that even at almost twenty-four years of age, it still had that same effect.

Embarrassing, maybe, because it made him want to cling tighter, but still kind of nice to know.

Finally the pain lessened enough that Sam was able to let go of his death grip on his brother's waist and climb his way back up to standing, though he was still holding onto Dean for support.

"You got it now?" Dean asked, one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other wrapped around the back of his neck.

Sam nodded, grateful that it was raining. It helped hide the tears brought on by both pain and gratitude for his big brother.

"Good. Because hugging in the rain is just a bit too chick-flicky for me. Let's get you someplace warm and dry. Then _I_ will go get food because apparently it's a very difficult and confusing task. I thought college was supposed to make you smarter."

Sam barked a laugh as Dean helped him hobble his way over to the passenger side of the Impala, continuing to make jokes and cast aspersions on Sam's intelligence the whole way.

The fact that he didn't make Sam wait while he dug out a towel for the seats, however, said he was still concerned.

The door was shut and Sam slouched into the seat, arms and legs stretched out as much as he could manage. It felt like heaven and he could only imagine how nice it would be to sprawl on a bed.

Dry.

And warm.

He tracked Dean from under hooded lids as his brother circled the car and climbed in.

"Come on, Marmaduke. Let's get you home."

Sam didn't bother to waste the energy it would take to flip his brother off.

Not to mention that would be a shitty way of saying thank you for saving his ass.

Again.

* * *

Part two will be up in a few days. Review plz&thx.

Oh, and betaed by the ever lovely Skysalla, who shares my love of stuck!Sam and cage!fic. :D THANKS, HONEY.


	2. Chapter 2

HOLY STORY ALERTS, BATMAN! O_O

*is floored by the response to this story*

So, uh, I take it you guys like this kind of thing? I shall see about writing more of this type then. :D

* * *

The drive took longer than expected and, actually, didn't end up where Sam thought it would either.

"La Quinta Inn?" Sam questioned as they pulled under the overhang in front of the lobby, brow furrowing.

"Yeah, well, apparently the night manager at the Sleepy Time Stay-Away had _two_ night jobs. I guess it made his job as a pimp a lot easier working at a sleazy motel. Until, you know, he _shot_ one of his customers for disagreeing over the price of the evening's entertainment."

"What?"

"Yeah, uh, they took statements from everyone staying there and then we all had to move because they shut the place down until further notice." Dean grinned widely. "But at least now we'll probably have all the hot water we can stand. Stay put. I'll be back."

Dean vanished out the door and Sam sighed and dug two fingers into his eye sockets, then massaged the bridge of his nose.

He didn't know if he should be grateful that his wish had been granted, or wary of what it was going to cost him. He didn't know how or when, but he would have to pay for this unexpected luck.

Dean came back and pulled them around to the far end of the motel. He ducked out into the rain and hurried to grab their bags from the trunk, then met Sam at his door right about the time Sam was swinging his feet to the ground.

Fuck, everything still hurt. And probably would for several days, he admitted realistically. He was going to be sore no matter what, but the sooner he could get into a hot shower to help loosen his muscles up the better it would be.

He mostly moved under his own power as they went up the path to the door and Dean got them in with the key card.

Down the hall three rooms and then Dean was swiping them in and oh holy _fuck_ Sam had never seen anything as beautiful as a Queen-sized bed with a fairly tasteful striped comforter.

He whimpered again and stumbled forward, letting go of Dean and wobbling like a toddler taking those first few shaky steps sans coffee table support, but he only got a couple of feet away before Dean had the bags on the ground and had caught up to him.

He was gently turned and led to the bathroom, making a sound of protest and reaching out for the heaven he was leaving behind.

"Easy there, Sam. I need to take care of your forehead and you need to warm up and dry off before you go there. You don't want to lay on that bed like this. Trust me, it'll be worth it."

Sam swallowed down another whimper and let Dean guide him to the toilet to sit.

The bathroom was huge compared to their normal accommodations and very, _very_ bright. White walls, ceiling, and floor tiles, with a few boldly colored accents, but mostly it was _white_. And the fact that all the lights worked and the bulbs weren't old and fading meant that it was damn near blinding.

But he could handle blinding since it also meant _clean_.

"Wet clothes off," Dean ordered, grabbing one of the fluffy white towels and setting it on the counter next to Sam. "The head injury the only bleeding one?" he asked as he ducked back out into the room for the first aid kit.

Sam grimaced as he peeled the wet shirts off and let them fall to the floor with a noisy slop, shivering as the cool air hit his bare, damp skin. Wet clothes had not been _warm_ but they were still a layer of insulation. His numbed and shaking fingers wrestled with the button on his jeans and then the zipper as well, but he managed to get them undone and was trying to slide out of his jeans when Dean returned.

"Uh, Sam?"

He paused and looked up.

"Boots," was all Dean said, but Sam blinked down and then groaned.

The corner of Dean's mouth quirked up, but he said nothing more on the subject as he crouched and worked the water-logged laces with nimble fingers.

"Did you hear my question?"

Sam blinked again. It was getting harder to stay awake now that he was warming up and not in excruciating pain. "Uhhhh . . ."

"Head injury. Is it the only bleeder?"

Sam thought for a second. "Yeah. Should be."

Dean nodded and tugged his boots off, dropping them next to the pile of clothes. Then he stood and braced Sam as the jeans and boxers were kicked free and added to the mess.

The towel was quickly wrapped around Sam's waist and he was lowered back down to sit.

Holy shit. He hadn't had a towel this thick and soft on his skin since Jess. It brought back memories of the day she'd dragged him to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to stock their apartment. Memories he quickly shoved back into their box.

"Not falling asleep, right, Sammy?" Dean said and tilted Sam's head back to get a better look at his forehead in the light.

"No," Sam murmured. He sat patiently and let his brother work, wincing at the sting of the alcohol, but holding steady all the same.

"So what happened?" Dean asked.

"Mrs. Danson."

"The cookie lady?" Dean asked, doubt—or a longing for denial—coloring his tone.

"Yup. I saw her inside the store. It was the quart of pig's blood in her cart that tipped me off."

"Damn," Dean said. It was a shame. She made some damn fine cookies.

But her cookies wouldn't save her. She'd killed seven people and locked Sam in a dog crate. That bitch's witchy ass was his.

"So how'd you end up in a dog crate?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "She musta put a whammy on me or something. Last thing I remember was looking from the carton of blood up to her face. She obviously realized that I knew what it meant, then suddenly I'm in a dog crate in the rain in an alley."

Dean shook his head and rinsed the washcloth in the sink.

"Only you, dude. It's because you look like a puppy, you know that right? With that hair and those eyes and the whole vibe you give off."

"Whatever," Sam said, tired. He looked over at the shower and tried to decide if it was worth it.

"Five minutes," Dean said. "You'll feel better for the warmth. Besides, who knows what was in that water?"

That was an excellent point.

"Okay. Go." He made a shooing motion with one hand, the other braced on the toilet tank to push up.

"I'm going, but I'm not locking the door, okay? You look like a light breeze could knock you over and I am not kicking down the door to get to you."

Sam waved him away and Dean left.

He hobbled into the stall, tossed the towel back out, then turned on the water and as soon as it warmed up, Sam groaned and admitted his brother was right. This was definitely worth five more minutes of alertness.

o.o

Sam felt a thousand times better when he left the bathroom, dry and warm and dressed in the sweats Dean had left him, and limped over to the far bed.

Dean was sitting on his bed watching him, alert and ready, but not moving just yet.

Sam collapsed on top of the comforter and hummed in pleasure. He could sleep for a _week_.

"You're probably not hungry are you?" Dean asked, sounding amused.

"Not enough to stay awake for it," Sam murmured truthfully, hugging the pillow to his head. He was briefly worried about suffocating himself accidentally since it was so much thicker and softer than he was used to, but brushed that aside. Dean wouldn't let him kill himself with a pillow. Although the temptation to bury his nose in it more fully was definitely strong with the scent of springtime flowers emanating from the clean cotton.

"Well then I'm just going to go pick something up for myself real quick. You'll be okay?"

"Mhm," Sam said, barely aware of what he was even saying.

"Okay." There was the sound of something being set down on the table between the beds and Sam cracked on eye to see it was his phone. "Call if you need anything."

Sam nodded and then let his eye drift shut.

He doubted he'd need it. He was going to be unconscious before Dean even left the room.

o.o

Despite his weariness, Sam's hunter instincts woke him when the door to the room was opened again and he frowned at the silhouette framed by the hallway light until he realized he recognized it.

Then he relaxed again, following the footsteps until the light between the beds was turned on.

He winced at that and then heard a soft curse.

"Sorry," Dean said as he sat on his own bed and pulled off his shoes. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay. Time is it?"

Dean sounded just a little ashamed when he said, "Ah, about one am?"

Sam frowned and opened his eyes again, shifting so he could see the clock and confirm the time. "The hell did you go to eat? The next town over?"

"No." Dean pulled his overshirt off and tossed it toward the foot of his bed with his boots, then half stood to shimmy out of his jeans. "But I figured since I was out . . ."

Sam sighed. "You took care of her, didn't you?"

Dean shrugged. "She was just one crazy old witch. And she never saw me coming."

Sam should be angry. He should remind Dean that they were supposed to be partners.

But he knew exactly why Dean had done it. Not because they were partners, but because they were brothers.

That old hag had hurt Dean's baby brother, humiliated him and trapped him in a _dog crate_ in the rain behind a grocery store and that alone had earned her Dean's enmity, the rest of her crimes secondary to these more personal offenses.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean said and stretched out under the covers of his bed, reaching up to flip off the light. "There's a full continental breakfast in the morning. With a make-your-own-waffle-bar." Dean hummed in appreciation and then sniffed. "Gonna be awesome," he mumbled.

Sam lay there for a few more moments, staring at the lump he could see outlined by the light of a parking lot lamp peeking in through the gap in the heavy curtains.

His brother wasn't perfect by any means. Sam knew that well. But even when he was being an ass and giving Sam shit over every damn thing he could find to give him shit over, even with all the womanizing and arrogance and the endless jokes about Sam's height and his intelligence and how he was the less attractive Winchester brother, Sam knew that Dean would always have his back.

Dean would annoy Sam as only a brother could, but then he would also sacrifice for him and defend him as only a brother could.

And Sam wouldn't have him any other way.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean's voice said out of the darkness. "You're thinking too loud. You can brood over waffles in the morning, all right?"

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to his other side.

"And maybe we can pick up some Scooby snacks at the store tomorrow if you're good."

Sam smiled into the dark. "Jerk," he muttered.

"Bitch," came the reply. Then a snicker.

Sam snorted, but let his eyes close as sleep crept over him.

Nope. Wouldn't have him any other way.

* * *

-fin-

Review plz&thx and maybe I'll share something else with you guys. :D


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